


Always Sunny in Colorado

by the_misshapen_polyp



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-01-05 05:55:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18359972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_misshapen_polyp/pseuds/the_misshapen_polyp
Summary: When the boys accidentally reunite in Denver after four years apart, it's sure to be eventful. While Stan attempts to reconnect with an old friend, Kenny's only imperative is to get some. That is, if he makes it through the weekend alive. Slash and het





	1. Chapter 1

****

"Happy birthday!" The raspy voice emanates from the side of Stan's bed, awakening him with a jolt. The first thing he sees are those teeth of his- slightly rotten, extremely wonky but always there; always smiling.

Next the stench of skunk weed hits him.

"Thanks, Ken," he smiles politely. His birthday wish right now is that Kenny would go away and wake him up a few hours later when he's had some beauty sleep, but living with Kenny is like having a four-year-old son living with you. A four-year-old who smokes a  _lot_  of pot, that is.

"You look ancient," he chuckles, scratching his stubbly yellow beard as Stan groggily stretches out his spine, sitting up. "Hungover?"

"Extremely." Stan bemoans his room-mates existence, and his own too. Kenny is _impervious_ to hangovers. Apparently that's what happens when you physically perish from alcohol poisoning enough times in your early twenties.

Stan eyes the poorly wrapped present in his hands. "Don't suppose that's a box full of aspirin?"

Kenny shudders. "If you want that much aspirin, you got bigger problems than a hangover, man." He shakes his head, tossing the present towards the bed. Stan's years of being a star sportsman in school fail him once again, and it lands heavily against his chest.

"Ow," he says, somewhat arbitrarily, picking up the present and giving it a good shake.

A few careful unwraps later, he finds himself face to face with what appears to be a Finding Nemo themed vibrating cock ring.

"Kenny. What- and I can't stress this part enough- the  _fuck?_ " he stares down at the god-forsaken thing. He briefly wonders why the perpetually-broke Kenny would bother spending money on such a thing. The thought occurs to him that it could be used and the gift flies out of his hands in horror.

His crooked-toothed companion sends him a vibrant grin of pride, picking it back up from the bed. "I know it's been a while. So I got you this, to compensate!" he pauses, assessing the look on Stan's face. "I stole it from Craig's. It's new!"

"Jesus, man!" Stan says with disgust. "If you think my dating life is that poor, you should have just put me out of my misery and shot me, already." He tosses the present aside. "Whatever. Thanks, I guess."

Kenny's grin remains firmly fixed in place, and Stan's got the distinct impression that there's something else, too. "What?" he says, unnerved.

"I got you somethin' else, man!"

_Suspicions confirmed._

"You gotta get out of bed, though."

"Shit. We're not going to Vegas or something, are we?" he asks, dubious.

Kenny laughs, as if this suggestion is utterly ridiculous. "The next best thing. We're heading to Denver for a weekend of booze, bitches, and… erm…" Kenny wrinkles up his nose in his efforts to conjure some alliteration.

"Breakfast?" Stan's stomach grumbles hopefully.

"Barbiturates!" Kenny finishes, clearly pleased with himself.

Stan chuckles at his friend. "I'm not sure barbiturates are a recreational drug, Ken." He chuckles. "Maybe… blow?" he says, after screwing up his face in thought.

Kenny's face lights up in excitement at the mention of the word. "Now  _that's_  the party spirit!"

* * *

Stan's not really sure how Kenny managed to drag his sorry ass out of bed, let alone into a car for an hour and a half to drive to Denver, of all places. It was probably because he owed Kenny, big time.

Kenny, conversely, had recently come into a bit of money, which he planned to spend on hookers, booze and drugs in their state capital with his best friend. It was to be a fun-filled weekend, at any rate. And, as it turns out, rather more fateful than either of the two boys had expected.

The first thing that happened was Kenny's shitty car breaking down.

It wasn't dramatic so much as just a few weird engine sounds and then crawling slowly to a halt about two miles outside of South Park. Two miles might not seem like much, but to two hungover twenty-year olds in the freezing cold rockies of Colorado, it was a nigh impossible situation.

"I told you we should have taken my car." Stan bemoans, when they've reached a standstill.

"Your car has that weird burger smell at all times," Kenny retorts in his famous muffle. "Makes my stomach rumble, and I don't need that."

Stan  _does_  eat a lot of burgers in that car, he has to concede the point. But he'll be damned if he's going to let Kenny go this easily. "Like you can talk- your backseat is  _drenched_  in cum stains. And at least my car works!" He grumbles, folding his plaid-sleeved arms over his plaid-covered chest defensively.

Kenny snickers. "Hey man, those stains remind me of some of my best moments."

The top three of those moments which included:

3\. An expedient warmth-wank, when he was stranded in the woods at freezing temperatures, on a camping trip. It is worth noting that Cartman and Butters were asleep (or at the very least desperately pretending to be) in the front seats at the time.

2\. An ill-advised blowjob from his English teacher, Miss Mahoney.  _Nice,_ I hear you recite. His grade point average had never quite been the same after that little excursion.

1\. The loss of Kenny's own virginity, by none other than Kyle's first-love-turned-rampant-whore  _Rebecca_. The fact he'd maybe SORT OF slipped her a twenty beforehand didn't shame it away from the top spot, though.

Needless to say, calling shotgun when riding with Kenny was of paramount importance.

But back to the matter at hand.

"What the fuck are we going to do?" Stan had just about managed to ask, when he spotted a sign for a gas station a few miles away. "We'll have to walk, and beg someone to tow us back. Then we can get my  _far superior_  car." He enunciates, feeling petty.

Kenny swears in concession.

And so began the rather miserable trudge to the rather miserable gas station, which of course was run down and looked like it might be owned by some greasy old trucker named Luke, or something. I mean, Stan was just guessing- perhaps it was the fact that it was called 'Luke's' which lead him to that conclusion.

Or maybe it was just that everything in his life was one big old hick-town cliché.

Stan doesn't realise that he's just said that entire diatribe out loud until he finds himself pondering when he started saying words like 'cliché'. But it's not like Kenny's listening, he's too busy staring with intense concentration out the window at some blonde chick that happens to be filling up her gas.

"For god's sake, Kenny. At least wait until we get to Denver. You're out of control." Stan scoffs, laughing a little as he does.

"No, no," Kenny frowns. "I mean.. hell  _yeah_. But also… I recognize that frizzy hair," Kenny elaborates. "That's Bebe Stevens, I swear. Ten bucks that's Bebe."

Stan slits his eyes a little and stares after her.

"Yeah, you're right," Stan grins, breaking into a jog to greet her. After all, the two of them used to be decent friends at school, while he was dating Wendy and Kyle was somewhat grudgingly dating the blonde. Besides, Bebe was one of those people who'd stuck around after high school, so it wasn't like they didn't bump into each other from time to time.

She clocks Stan as he's coming towards her and she smiles a little distractedly. "Oh,  _hey_! How are you?" she pulls him in for a hug. "Long time no see. And is that Kenny McCormick I spot at your side?" she gives him a wave as he approaches, somewhat less rapidly than his counterpart. "What the hell are you guys doing all the way out here on foot? You must be absolutely freezing."

"We were heading to Denver, actually. We were going to find someone to tow us back to South Park so we could go and get Stan's car."

Bebe laughs. "How serendipitous.  _I_  was just heading to Denver, to see my grandpa. You boys want a lift? It's only an hour and a half. No need to pay me for gas."

Stan and Kenny both share a gob-smacked look, in which neither of them can quite believe their luck, and hastily agree. Kenny calls shotgun, to which Stan is glad, because it means that Kenny can make conversation with Bebe for an hour and a half, while he could lounge and possibly catch a few z's in the back seat.

And boy, girl could sure  _talk._

About twenty minutes in, Stan's regretting agreeing to the lift, because he's so sick of her shrill voice taking him on a journey through the lives of all their school friends.

"Everyone says that Red's stupid, getting married so young. But I think David is so  _nice_ , I'm just pissed that she asked Wendy to be the maid of honor, not me." Bebe pauses for breath but then immediately continues her stream-of-consciousness. "Ooh, speaking of Wendy- have you spoken to her at all, Stan?"

"No." he shrugs. Things hadn't ended well there, and there was no need to talk about it with Colorado's biggest gossip, of all people..

"Well, if you ever wondered what she's up to, I have her number and I'm sure she'd love to see you. She's in Denver this weekend, as well- as luck would have it. We were planning on meeting for coffee." Bebe's expression is one of smug satisfaction. "You boys should join us!" she exclaims, her hand lingering on Kenny's arm for just a smidgen too long.

Stan resists the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose. Is there anyone they know that  _isn't_  in Denver this weekend? He knows it's ridiculous, but right now it seems like the universe is telling them NOT to go on this trip.

He sighs. "Bebe, I don't think Wendy wants to see me." He says simply.

Bebe's eyes narrow into tiny little slits and a ghost of a smile appears on her face. "Oh? I wouldn't be so sure."

 _Ominous,_ Stan thinks. He doesn't say anything on the matter, but a sinking feeling begins to take lodge in his chest.

When Bebe was hellbent on something, it  _would_  happen.


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

After the second hour of hearing nothing but Bebe's prattling voice interspersed with some new age hip-hop, Stan's seriously considering opening the car door and making a break for it. With nothing to stare at out the window but miles and miles of anonymous highway and snow-  _oh God, so much snow-_ he starts to go a little loopy.

He's literally calculating how fast he'd have to roll to survive when Bebe saves his life.

"We're almost there, guys." She smiles at Kenny and then reaches her neck round to give Stan a look. "I'm not sure if you heard, but I asked Kenny if you two would like to join Wendy and I for coffee." She smiles serenely, and one look at Kenny's guilty face says everything: he's already agreed.

Stan sighs and nods. "Fine."

"I'm sure she'd love to see you."

"I don't know about that." Stan shrugs, remembering the last time he'd broken up with Wendy. She wasn't the sort of girl to hold a grudge… but then, one had to remember the time she sent a teacher to the sun for so much as  _looking_ at Stan, so… really, who knew with that girl? "It didn't end that well between us."

Bebe squeals. "Well, now's your chance to make things up!" she winks flirtatiously at Kenny. "It'll be like a double date."

Kenny stifles a laugh and him and Stan share an amused look. They silently communicate the following via facial expressions:

_Should I tell her or should you?_

_Leave it. She'll figure it out._

_I can't believe she doesn't know. She's hoping you're going to hook up with Wendy, dude._

_I know, I know. Look, whatever. It's Bebe, I don't care what she thinks._

_True, man._

"Erm, something wrong, boys?" Bebe asked, sugary sweet. Kenny shakes his head, his smile stretching wide across his face.

"Not at all. I just got a feeling this weekend's gonna be a good one, man."

"You always say that," Stan grumbles from his position on the backseat. "Besides, what's so freakin' exciting about Denver? It's a shithole."

Bebe narrows her eyes as Kenny berates Stan for being a misery-guts. "Hey. Doesn't Kyle live in Denver?" she asks Stan. "I swear I heard something from Wendy about him moving here…"

Stan's jaw clenches. "I don't know, man."

Bebe looks nonplussed. "Weren't you guys licking each other's asses throughout all of school?" she says, evidently confused.

"Yeah, we don't speak anymore." He clears his throat, feeling awkward.

Bebe purses her lips, fixing her gaze to the road ahead. "Well. Too bad. That boy had a  _great_  ass," she remembers fondly, a smile playing on her lips. "I don't know if he did squats or something, but  _damn_  that booty-"

"Quit objectifying men with your female gaze," Kenny cuts in.

Bebe and Stan snort in unison. "You're just jealous."

"No, I'm serious! We're not hunks of meat that exist solely for your pleasure," he says with a prim finish, closing his eyes sagely.

Bebe's eyes flicker to Stan. "Uh…"

Kenny pauses, grinning. "Although, say the word…" he purrs, and the entire population of the car groans in protest as Bebe shakes her head.

"Jesus, some people don't change," She laughs. "Anyway, guys. We're just about here, at my granddad's place. So this might be the last stop, I'm afraid. I'm going to park here and maybe later get a bus into the city to visit him at the hospital."

Stan's eyebrows raise. "He's not here?"

"No, no. I'm watching his house while he's sick." She gives a sad smile. "It's nice, though. I got a few days off work, and his place is pretty close to the center." She notes the slower moving traffic for the past few miles. "I'm going to meet Wendy, first." She says absently, her car grinding to a halt. Kenny watches with intense fascination as she yanks on the hand brake firmly. "Ew."

Stan nobly cuts in, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. "How much do you need for gas?" he asks, rifling through his admittedly sorry wad of cash.

She scoffs, shakes her head.

"No, no. I was going this way anyway, guys," She pauses, and Stan almost feels bad for hating on her so much on the ride over. A free ride was a free ride, after all. "Although…" Kenny looks eagerly up at her. "Your fee is coming to see Wendy with me." She concludes, a knowing smile playing on her features. "Just for a few hours. Pleeeeeeease…" she says, bringing out those puppy dog eyes and pouting her lips a little bit for good measure.

Kenny nods before Stan has a chance to utter his disapproval. Bebe makes a face of delight and opens the car door, stepping out with her shiny black heels on the tarmac.

"Ken," he says warningly, once she's out of earshot.

"Dude. It's fine. It'll be _fine_ ," Kenny soothes, holding his hands up defensively. "We came here for a good time. This is just an interlude. We're going to  _have_  a good time."

Bebe knocks on the window before Stan can respond. "You boys coming out?"

The glass fogs up with Stan's protracted sigh.

* * *

Stan follows Bebe and Kenny's lead. Stan concludes that Kenny had the superpower to lead almost  _anyone_  astray, if he had the will to do so, because somehow the plan changes and they end up in a grubby dive bar instead of a coffee shop.

"Guys, it's midday. We'll look like alcoholics," he grumbles, tacitly ignoring the fact that he's never been averse to day-drinking up to this point.

"It's your birthday!" Kenny remarks, throwing his arm around Bebe, to which she sends him a slight frown. "Have some fun."

"You didn't tell me it was your birthday, Stan." She shakes her head. "Happy birthday!" she pauses. "Shit. We need to celebrate properly. I'll buy you a drink or two, okay?" she flashes him her charitable smile, shaking off Kenny's arm.

He remains undeterred.

"Yeah, thanks." Stan nods. "It's not a big deal, really…"

"Not a big deal!" Kenny scoffs, shocked. "Bebe, Stan hasn't been laid in almost a yea-"

"Shut up, dude!" he hisses. "Stop that!"

Bebe smiles. "Well, let's see if we can change that tonight! There's nothing better than having a wing-woman on your side, trust me!"

Kenny snorts. "I'm not so sure about that-"

"Argh!" Stan cries, cutting them both off from laughing at him, and taking a swig of his beer bottle. "When is Wendy getting here?!"

"Someone's keen," Bebe grins. Stan decides he's seen just about enough of her chemically-whitened teeth for one day. "Looks like your prayers have been answered, birthday boy!" she signals to the door, where a windswept young woman stands, scanning the bar for her friends.

Kenny lets out a wolf-whistle involuntarily. Stan nudges him. "Sorry, dude. It's just…"

Wendy was beautiful, all long shiny black hair and tight turtleneck; and of course still sporting that same purple beret as ever. Kenny stares for a couple of seconds before Wendy's eyes land on them as Bebe waves her over excitedly, standing up to greet her friend.

They share a brief hug and a cheek-kiss and Stan takes the opportunity to take a large swig of his beer, and then sticks out a hand.

"Wendy," he says simply, trying a smile. Luckily, her features are kind and she seems genuinely happy to see him.

"Hey, Stan," she pauses, delicately shaking his hand. "Is my memory going, or is it your birthday today?" she asks, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

He nods. "Yeah."

"Happy birthday! It's so good to see you." She gives him the classic once-over. "I can't believe how much you've changed."

_What did that mean?_

"You're looking good," he nods back.

"Thanks! And Kenny, how are you?"

"Can't complain," he shrugs. "We're in Denver for an epic weekend bender," he says almost proudly, as Stan shrinks in cringe at how  _teenage_  that sounds.

Wendy laughs. "Of course you are." She rolls her eyes with mirth. "Are you both still living in South Park?" she sits down on one of the bar stools. "Oh gosh, there's so much to catch up on. Where do we start?"

Bebe cuts in. "We can start with the fact that Stan here hasn't been laid in over a year!" she giggles.

Stan covers his face with his hands.

"Jesus Christ," he moans. "Really, Bebe?" Kenny shoots him an apologetic look, but Stan's having none of it. Kenny knew what an infernal gossip Bebe was, so this was really on him. Kenny receives an elbow to the rib.

"Fuck, ow!"

"A year!" Wendy exclaims. "Wow. I guess there isn't much of a gay dating scene in South Park, hey?" she shrugs. "Shame. Although you're bound to have more luck in a big city like this."

"Who says I  _want_  to date?"

Kenny rolls his eyes and makes a nodding gesture behind Stan's back.

Bebe's still looking shook to her very core.

"Hold the fuck up." She starts, holding a finger up to shut everyone up. "You're  _GAY_?!"

" _Flaming_." Stan answers, a little drôle in his delivery.

"As the day is long," Kenny adds, giggling.

"Christ, Bebe, keep up." Wendy laughs. "Why the hell did you  _think_  we broke up in junior year of high school?" she asks, incredulous that her friend apparently didn't know.

Bebe looks like she's doing all sorts of math in her head, so Stan puts her out of her misery. "Look, if it's any consolation- I didn't really tell anyone. The only people who knew in high school were Kyle, Kenny and Wendy." He pauses. "And later Cartman…" that last part of the sentence comes punctuated by a well-deserved shudder.

"How come?" she asks, dumbfounded. "I mean. You don't look very gay."

Stan does have to concede that about himself. He's not flamboyant, that's for sure. "What do gay people look like?" he asks, scratching his stubble. "Am I supposed to go around wearing contour and daisy dukes?" he shrugs.

"You could be like a new Little Gay Al," Kenny remarks with a laugh.

"Whatever." Stan chugs down his beer. "Wendy, don't you want a drink?" he asks, just to get away from Bebe's spotlight question time.

"I'd love one," she says gratefully. He jerks his thumb towards the bar and indicates that they should deviate from their present company, so she happily obliges. As they walk out of earshot, Wendy hisses to Stan. "I'm so sorry. She doesn't mean anything bad, she's just out of touch."

He waves it off, good-naturedly. "It's fine. I live in South Park. It's nothing I'm not used to."

He points out.

"Oh God. Yeah. How is that?"

"Er. Well, not great. After Cartman publicly outed me,  _that fuckin' asshole_ , I got a few bricks through my window, shouted at a few times. Well, my mom's window. After a while people kinda forgot, I guess. Which is nice."

Wendy nods, as sympathetic as she could possibly be from her limited perspective. Stan wonders if maybe now is a good time-  _fuck it_ , he's going to ask. "Are we good?" he wonders aloud, out of the blue. "After everything that went down in junior year, I mean," he says. There's a brief silence between them as Wendy orders a beer. The two of them stay by the bar, feeling like they might be about to have a rather private conversation.

Stan continues. "I'm so sorry it happened that way. I wasn't ready to deal with it at the time, and everything with my dad, and Kyle, and…" he trails off. "Basically, I'm sorry you got dragged into my catastrophic mess of a life. You didn't deserve that," he concludes, hoping vainly that the sympathy card may earn him some points.

To his mild surprise, she waves him off, indicating that it's not necessary. "Stan.  _I'm_  the one that should be apologizing. You were having the crappiest time of all of us, and I was too immature to realize. All I could see was that the boy who I was obsessed with, breaking up with me." She shakes her head. "I wish I could go back and just be civil to you.  _I'm_  sorry."

He stares at her for a few seconds, and then laughs.

"Pffft." The noise snakes it's way out his mouth, hissing and ugly. "Jesus. All this time, I thought you were flamin' pissed at me."

"I thought you were upset with me!"

Stan grins, tipping his beer forward. "Well, then. Here's to not being pissed at one another!"

"Here's to non-evil exes." Wendy agrees, clinking the two bottles together ceremoniously.

There's a short and comfortable silence between them for a few seconds, as both eye up Kenny and Bebe but neither of them makes a move to re-join the table. Stan places his beer down on the sticky bar and sighs. "We should meet up more often." He says, wondering if maybe he's pushing his luck, now.

Wendy's eyebrows knit together, and she looks down at her drink. "I mean. That sounds good, but I'm not usually in Denver. I'm still studying at Harvard. I'm just here for the week, and even now I'm buried under with work." She explains, idly pulling the paper label from her beer bottle.

"You're still at Harvard?"

"Law school takes ages, Stan." She cocks her head to the side. "I'm starting to wish I was Broflovski…"

Stan falters and Wendy notices; immediately corrects herself. "God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring him up…." She hesitates, curiosity getting the better of her. "You really aren't talking, still? After all this time?" she inquires.

Stan plucks his beer from the side and pours the last few drops into his mouth, savoring them. "Yeah, well…. you can talk about him. I don't care."

Wendy seems unsure. "Erm. I just meant that he already graduated Harvard, with his business degree. Law takes significantly longer, and you earn less to start with." She sighs. "I'm jealous of you too, living the college-debt free life!" she says; a little too brightly.

"Did you see him a lot?" Stan ignores her conversation-changer, pushing his empty glass bottle away, and wiping his mouth. "Kyle?" Wendy nods wordlessly. "How's he doing?"

"You really want to know?" she asks, deciding to tread lightly. Stan nods. "Last I heard, he had some fancy graduate job here in Denver. Wanted to move closer to his folks over in Boulder, I think. Knowing Kyle's mom, that  _definitely_ wasn't by his own choice." She snorts at the thought, and Stan nods in agreement. "We weren't ever  _Super Best Friends_ , don't get me wrong. But… we stay in touch." She wryly references their old saying and Stan's eyes move downward. "Are you ever going to tell me what he did to you?"

Stan shrugs. "Look, it's teenage drama now." He tries for a smile, but it's overtly fake.

"If you want, I could call him up; invite him along," she nods towards Bebe and Kenny, who are giggling about something over in the corner. "Seems like we're having a weird kind of reunion, as it is."

Stan closes his eyes. "I'm sure we wouldn't have anything in common, anymore."

"Who cares!" Wendy exclaims. "Fine, fine." She dials it back at notch at his condescending look. "It's your birthday, your choice. But… let me know if you change your mind, okay?"

Stan nods, his gaze traveling off into the middle distance, distracted. "Shall we get back to the others?" he asks, just for sake of moving on from the other topic. "After I get another drink." He adds, importantly.


	3. Chapter 3

In typical millennial fashion, the four friends forget about having a few drinks and then heading home, and before they know it: they've been drinking and catching up for the last three hours. Stan barely realises how drunk he's become until he attempts to get up from his stool and instead careens forward into Wendy's lap. Luckily, he catches himself before he does any lasting social damage.

"Jeez," he slurs. "It's like, four in the afternoon." He bemoans, pulling his phone out from his pocket and squinting at the screen. "And I'm drunker than I should be."

"I don't know how you managed  _that_. I'm fine… mostly," Wendy giggles at him and then glances over at Bebe and Kenny. She wonders to herself when Bebe got onto Kenny's lap, and when he put his hand on her thigh. "Bebe," she says, interrupting their little excursion with a polite cough. "Er, ladies room? Now?"

Bebe's soft, fond expression transfers from Kenny to Wendy and she nods. "Sure!" she replies, jumping up from Kenny's lap as her kitten heels clack onto the ground. Wendy shoots Stan a look that he's sure has some ulterior meaning. He turns to face Kenny.

"Weird, huh?"

Kenny stares after his lost lap-girl in abject disappointment. When Stan talks he snaps out of his haze. "Wha-?"

"How girls always go to the bathroom together. It's weird, right?"

Kenny shrugs. "Sure, man. Whatever."

"I wonder what they're talking about." Stan muses.

"Who cares? I'm not a girl. I have no idea why they do things." Kenny takes a sip of his beer, and then belches loudly. "Hey. Are you drunk yet?"

Stan thinks about this for a second. He shakes his head after some deliberation. "No, man," he answers, trying his best to sound sober. "But then, it takes more than a couple of beers to get  _me_  drunk."

Kenny smirks at his friend and then closes his eyes with a shrug. "Weird turn of events, huh?"

"Tell me about it. Are you gonna hook up with Bebe?"

Kenny shrugs. "If she lets me, hell yeah," he smiles. "She's just as hot as ever, huh?" he stares after the ladies' room, wistfully. "Man, if only Broflovski were here to see what he missed out on."

Stan's smile fades in a heartbeat. "Broflovski," he repeats, a shade quieter. "Y'know, Wendy mentioned that he's in Denver. They stay in touch, apparently."

Kenny's face lights up. "Really?! Man, I'd love to see him again," he smiles, leaning back on his chair. "It's been too long."

"Not for me." Stan mutters.

"Nah, dude," Kenny shakes his head. "Broflovski's cool, right? We've all been friends for decades. I miss our acid trips together in high school. Guy was absolutely  _insane_."

Stan frowns. That's not how he remembers Kyle, at all. He remembers Kyle always being the sensible one of the group, always the one who would take a stand when he felt morally outraged by something.

Which was most of the time, as it turned out.

"I just don't think he'd want to-" Stan starts, but noticing that Kenny's now fixated to a point just behind him, which stops him from talking. A quick glance round confirms his suspicions: that Wendy and Bebe have returned from the toilets, and Kenny's drooling over Bebe again. "Oh, for fuck's sake. It's like talking to a Neanderthal," he groans, clutching his forehead in annoyance.

"Hello, boys," Bebe waves, hand on one hip. Some sort of transaction appears to have been made in the toilets, because both girls emerge with a sense of purpose. "So!" she clasps her hands together. "We're going to grab something to eat. And then we're going to head back to my grandad's place and drink some more!"

Drinking is one thing that Stan does particularly well, and Kenny will do just about  _anything_  to get into Bebe's pants, so they let themselves be led astray.

* * *

"Should we get the bus back?" Stan asks, full of greasy food and eager to sit down and digest what's in his stomach. Bebe is preoccupied with feeding Kenny chicken nuggets, which momentarily triggers Stan's gag reflex and causing him to turn to Wendy for some moral support.

"Dude," he says to her. "Have you  _seen_  what's going on with those guys?" he whispers conspiratorially.

She's too busy texting to look up, but shrugs. "I know, it's obscene. Classic Bebe."

"Classic  _Kenny_." Stan says, his expression inscrutable for a second, absorbing this. "They're actually perfect for each other, in a weird way." He muses, scratching his stubble in thought.

Wendy is still furiously typing something out on her phone, so Stan nudges her gently on the arm. "Uh… everything ok?"

She looks up. "Hm?" she says blankly. "Oh. I was… actually, I was just messaging Broflovski."

Stan's expression clouds over again. He wonders why everyone keeps mentioning him today. It's getting old fast. "How come?" he asks tonelessly.

Wendy shows him her phone instead of replying verbally, going momentarily cross-eyed as she takes a loud sip from her straw.

Stan skims through it.

_this deposition is making me want to kill myself. tell me how are you still alive through four years of this bullshit_

_I just think about all the money I'm going to make!_

_hah, you mean drowning in student debt_

_Don't even go there, Broflovski. Besides, I have three more years before I have to think about that!_

_good luck_

Stan looks up at her with a quizzical expression.

"He's being deposed right now. The company he works at are having some legal trouble, and I'm studying law." She explains. Stan nods vaguely. "I'm going to tell him that you're here," she says plainly.

"Don't!" Stan suddenly reacts in a fit of passion, making a move to grab her iPhone out of her hands- she deftly moves out of his way and sends him a knowing smile.

"Look. It's going to happen. Deal with it!" she waves her phone in the air precariously as he panics, trying to pluck it from her hands.

Stan makes a sulking face. "I don't want him to know I'm here!"

"Tough! He's going to," Wendy frowns, typing a few words into her phone. "Aaaaand… sent." She says with a satisfactory smile.

Stan groans audibly. "What is it with you women and interfering!" he says, scowling and putting his hands on his head. "Do you ever think that some things are just left un-"

_Ping!_

"Oh. He replied. He must be pretty bored." Wendy pulls her phone out again.

_Currently hanging out in Denver with Kenny and Stan!_

_that's pretty random… say hello from me_

Stan narrows his eyes, scrutinising the text. "'Say hello from me'?" he ponders. "What on earth do you think  _that_  means?"

"It means, he says  _hello_." She sighs, stating the obvious. "Look, Stan. I'm going to ask him if he wants to join us. What's the harm?" she exclaims, amidst Stan's cries of anguish. "If he says no, he says no. If he's game- well, then, who are we to deny him the right to drink with us!" she says, getting ready to type a few lines of text.

Stan decides that sincere is the way to go.

"Wendy, I am not joking. I  _don't_  want to see Kyle," he tries, his face beet red but his eyes desperate.

She pauses, looking up from her phone. "I don't get it," she hesitates. "You guys were so  _close_."

"No, you don't get it. So just… quit it."

"You know that he misses you-"

"I don't care," Stan stays firm.

"So evidently you're pissed at him," she deduces, pointing and trying a different tack. "Wouldn't you relish the chance to slug him in the face?"

Stan sighs. "Look, Wendy. If it's all the same to you… I'd rather not think about it," he says carefully, avoiding the subject.

"No, Stan. You need to deal with this. Whatever it is. Kyle and you were super best friends for years. You can't just stop talking to each other without any reason. He probably doesn't even know-"

"Yes! He  _does_  know!" Stan's angry, now. "And he's the one that stopped talking to me, first!" he says loudly, suddenly embarrassed that he's allowed himself to get so riled up about this. "Jesus, I sound fifteen. For God's sake, Wendy."

"Stan, but-"

"Fine! Do what you want," he concedes, not wanting to argue this point any further. He'd lost enough cool points as it was, he wasn't eager to lose any more. Besides, he and Wendy had just reconciled and it's not like he was keen to jeopardize that just yet.

"Okay," she says, unconvinced. "Look, I'm sorry to get involved. But really, I think that you two should talk things out. When are you next going to have an opportunity like this?"

Stan shrugs, embarrassed at this point. "Let's just… let's just get back to Bebe's, okay?"

The two old friends look over at their respective friends, who are now touching noses and giggling like a pair of school children. Stan and Wendy wrinkle up their noses in perfect unison.

"Jesus," Wendy utters, disappointed. "How nauseating."

* * *

Bebe's grandad's place is surprisingly modern, for an older person living on his own. Within minutes Stan makes himself comfortable on the couch and sticks some soccer on the television. Kenny comes to join him before long.

"The girls are making cocktails," he grins, plopping his body down with gusto. "Apparently, some  _other_  girls might be joining us. Do you know what this means, Stanley?" Stan shakes his head. "I might be threesome bound!"

Unlikely, Stan thinks. "I'm glad you're having a good time," he says, his voice teeming with sarcasm. "Wendy won't stop bugging me about inviting Kyle." He leans further back into the couch, nestling his head into the soft leather. "Christ, this couch is glorious."

Kenny snickers. "Look, I'll get them to invite some gay dudes if you're gonna be all  _salty_  about it."

Stan's serious expression breaks, and he gives a little, laughing. "No, thanks," he shakes his head. "I am so done with the gay dating scene," he says, knocking back another large gulp of his beer.

"That's lame, and so are you. There are plenty of eligible guys out there. Just look at me, for example."

Stan  _does_  look at him. The boy is about his height, pretty average. He's skinny from not eating properly, but he's got a sort of wiry toughness about him which Stan supposes is from growing up in the poor part of the neighbourhood. Wonky teeth, but he works it to his advantage with a charming, crooked smile. That dirty blond hair. Dirty in both senses of the word. Maybe all three, Stan doesn't know.

"You aren't my type," Stan says, truthfully. It's something he's said before, and he'll say it again. "Besides. You like tits too much to want to screw me."

"Amen," Kenny nods, closing his eyes in bliss. "And might I say, Bebe's are looking mighty-"

The doorbell rings and cuts him off. Stan's heart flies into his mouth for no good reason. Kenny jumps up from where he's sitting. "I'll bet that's my ladies!" he grins. "I'll get it!" he calls to the kitchen, where Bebe and Wendy are making some wildly disconcerting giggling noises.

Stan turns back to face the television with a protracted sigh out his nostrils. He tunes out the noises of clinking glasses from the kitchen, and the sound of hubbub coming from the front door, and lets his mind turn off as he pours the last few drops of his beer bottle onto his tongue with a bitter splash.

Against his better wishes, his ears pick up some sound as he hears someone open and shut a door with a click.

"Man, it's so crazy that you're here!" he hears Kenny's excited tones and he's forced to push something inside him back downward with a nervous swallow. Still, he refuses to turn his head round. He keeps himself occupied; keeps his gaze on the television screen steely.

"Stan! It's Kyle!" Wendy hisses to him, confirming what he already figured as she and Bebe go also to greet him.

Stan has to admit, he's sorely tempted to see how Bebe and Kyle will interact, so he does turn his head a little, to try and listen.

"Hey! Thanks for coming," that's Wendy, polite and cordial as ever.

"Kylie!" Bebe exclaims. "Wow! You look so different!"

"Do I?"

That  _voice_. Stan's body does an involuntary shudder.

"Yeah, you look good. Not that you didn't look good before! I just meant, you know. You look a lot older, and your  _hair_! I can't believe it's been, what, four years? How have you been, what are you doing now? I'm still in South Park, can you believe it…?!"

Stan eyes up the porch window which he can see from where he's sitting; wondering if he'll look like a giant pussy if he makes a break for it now.

As with the car, he decides that it probably wasn't the best of moves to make. He stands up slowly, as if he's gained fifty pounds in the last few minutes and trudges over to where Bebe is gushing, offering up an awkward smile as he catches Kyle's eye.

Woah.

The first thing that Stan thinks is that Bebe is correct - Kyle's grown up. It sounds childish to say, but he literally had. He was literally about five inches taller than Stan vaguely remembers from high school. That orange hair is cropped short; curls free of that old green hat he used to wear everywhere.

"Stan," Kyle fully interrupts Bebe's tirade. "Hello," he says, warm but definitely investigatory. He's wondering if Stan is still pissed at him.

There's an uncanny silence for a few milliseconds as Stan mentally weighs up the last few year of high school in his head, concluding with an equally wary. "Kyle! Hello, man. You good?" he goes with, injecting a false sincerity in his tone.

If Stan remembers Kyle at all, he recognizes the fakeness in Stan's voice and will respond in kind.

"Great! You?" he replies. Stan is instantly proved correct.

"Yeah, yeah," he waves his hand, grateful when Kenny cuts in.

"You want a beer, dude?" Kenny asks, slapping Kyle on the back slightly too hard. "I got some buds in the kitchen, c'mon," he tilts his head towards the house and Kyle enters, pulling off his duffel coat to reveal… a shirt and tie.

"Did you work today?" Wendy asks, spying the outfit. "It's a Saturday," she says blankly.

"Oh, uh, I had some stuff to do in the office," he waves away. "The deposition."

"That's what you get working in Finance, I guess." Wendy says drily, sipping at the fruity glass that she holds between her fingers. "Come in, come in…" she pauses. "Bebe and I were thinking about playing a drinking game!"

"Didn't you need to visit your grandfather…?" Stan reminds her, perhaps a little meanly.

Bebe looks crestfallen. "Oh. Yeah. Well, maybe I should do that?" she looks at Kenny, as if he's going to confirm something for her, and then punctuates her sentence with a giggle. "Maybe later."

Nice, Stan thinks sourly as he brings his beer to his lips.

"Uh. What's the plan?" Kyle asks, seeming a little preoccupied.

"We should definitely stay here and wait for these 'other girls' to show up!" Kenny says with unbridled enthusiasm, earning him a wry look from Wendy.

"Mm. Bebe and I were thinking perhaps we could have some fun around here and then possibly head out to a club later? It depends. Stan, you said you and Kenny were planning a big weekend…? What did you have in mind?"

Stan realises that Kyle's giving him an odd look and he clears his throat to answer Wendy. "We were just going to hit some bars," he explains.

Bebe shakes her head. "No, you've got to know the right places to go! I know the city, I can show you around!" she exclaims, clearly forgetting that Kyle is the only one who lives here. Meanwhile, the Denver-expert in question is boring a hole into the side of Stan's head with a vengeance.

"It's your birthday," he remembers, speaking quietly after a little moments pause. "Happy birthday!" he adds, a little cheerier.

"Oh. Thanks," Stan replies, suddenly embarrassed. "You remembered?"

Kyle scratches at his hair a little awkwardly. "Yeah, weird…" he agrees with a shrug. "Would have got you something, only I was busy having no idea I would see you," He adds with a joking tone in his voice.

Stan doesn't crack a smile, only nods with a vague hint of recognition on his face and turns away.

Wendy clasps her hands together in an attempt to ease the burgeoning tension, and loudly exclaims. "Bebe and I made margaritas! Who fancies one?!"

* * *

Despite himself, after a few more drinks Stan does admittedly find himself relaxing back into the atmosphere of being in this little group. Bebe splits off and decides that it might be a good idea to visit her sick, dying grandfather after all. Kenny is therefore less engaged with tits and more engaged with talking to Kyle; this takes the pressure off Stan somewhat.

Stan turns to Wendy and sips at his tasty cocktail.

"Damn. These are really good," he says, swirling the clouded liquid around the glass a few times. "I've gotta say. As a fourth friend, you're really soaring above and beyond Cartman in a big way," he laughs.

Wendy makes a face, as if the mere mention of his name is unpleasant to the ear. "I should think so! I bet Cartman never made you a delicious cocktail, did he?" she raises her eyebrows.

"Can't say I ever remember it," Stan shrugs. "He preferred stirring up lives, not stirring up drinks."

"Har-de-har," Wendy replies, deadpan. "Very funny. I wonder what that oaf is doing nowadays, anyway?"

Kenny overhears them from the other couch, where him and Kyle are amicably chatting away. "Oh! I got his number. Shall I call him?!" he asks with a gleam in his eye as the room drops silent. "Could be a laugh?"

Wendy and Kyle make eye contact, their faces a mirror picture of abject horror. Kenny twigs and pushes his phone back into his pocket. "Perhaps not, then."

"I heard that he spent some time in prison," Stan pitches in.

"Really? I heard he worked for some shady government organisation," Kyle frowns. "I wonder if he's still as much of a twisted fuck,"

"You don't  _grow out_  of psychopathy," Stan replies, his voice coming across a little churlish.

"Y'know, I always wondered if he was really a psychopath." Kyle says thoughtfully. "Aren't they supposed to be, like, emotionless or something? I remember him crying like a bitch when I punched him, once..."

" _Once?!_ " Stan repeats with some amusement. "You were  _forever_  punching him!"

Kenny chuckles. "Oh man, that time that he got an A+ on that history paper… the one on why _Mein Kampf_ was a classic piece of literature…" he slaps his thigh. " _That_  was a fun week."

Kyle seethes with remembered rage. "Oh,  _God_ , he spent all week boasting about it," he groans with repressed rage. "Did I really punch him then?" he asks, genuinely enquiring. "I think I might have mentally blocked it out."

Kenny shrugs. "I can't remember. I think so? You were mighty pissed."

"Yeah, you did. When you found out you got a B on  _your_  paper on Das Kapital." Stan weighs in suddenly, surprising Kyle. "We were in the English classroom. You almost threw a chair at him. I talked you out of it, and you slugged him in the face instead."

Kyle places a hand over his mouth in horror. "Christ."

"Yeah, you had quite the temper." Stan remembers, quirking an eyebrow upwards. "That wasn't the worst time, though."

"Hm?"

Kenny's eyes turn wide like he's wishing he had some popcorn to munch on. He loved story-sharing time, especially when the topic was their childhood in South Park. That town spawned so many weird events, it was amazing they were still alive to tell the tales.

"You almost put him in the hospital. Senior year of high school. You broke his nose."

"What happened?" Wendy asks, clearly becoming drawn in to the conversation.

Kyle frowns, his memories becoming clearer in his mind. "Yeah," he says. He ignores the others, staring right at Stan with a fierce intensity in his narrowed eyes. Stan doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to.

Kenny and Wendy share a perturbed look.

"I don't remember that.. what did he do?" Kenny tries. "Stan?"

"I don't remember," Stan waves a hand, not breaking Kyle's hard gaze.

"It's not important, anyway," Kyle frowns, losing the staring contest which had cropped up between the two of them and averting his eyes. "Point is, he was a douchebag."

There's a small silence.

"Hear hear!" Kenny cuts in, lifting his drink up in a 'cheers' motion and then chucking it down his throat with some gusto. "Wendy, you're going to have to show me how to make another one of those!"


	4. Chapter 4

There’s an old adage, Stan’s heard it said a few times in his life, that nothing good ever happens after 3am.

He’s partially inclined to believe it, although it’s never stopped him staying out drinking until the early light of morning in the past. 3am was generally the point after which things only went downhill.

Maybe that’s some of the reason why Stan is keen to get going with this evening – because he knows deep down that if something good doesn’t happen in the next three hours, well, then it wouldn’t happen at all.

And he needs something good to happen. Even if that good thing was just getting chicken nuggets later on.

He stares at phone and rubs his eyes in disbelief.

“It’s already _midnight_ , you guys,” he says to nobody in particular, swaying in place. “And we’re still here.” He moans. “I want to go to a bar,” he announces, the smirk on Kyle’s face not quite escaping him. “I want to drink more.”

“We can drink more, here.” Bebe interrupts him, tearing her attention from Kenny for the briefest of seconds. Stan grimaces. Over the last four hours, Kenny and Bebe had become more and more sickeningly _into_ each other. At 6pm, they had been just hanging out like normal. At 7pm, Bebe had gone to visit her grandfather. At 8pm, they had been intensely discussing something off into one corner. At 9pm, they’d started looking very cosy on one of the couches. At 10pm, Bebe had moved fully into his lap and at 11pm; their conversation appeared to have devolved into some serious eye-fucking as Bebe straddled the poor boy.

Stan wonders what the next enthralling development will entail.

Well, not really. Mostly, he just wants to get out of here. Hanging around a bunch of Wendy’s feminist-vegan-warrior friends wasn’t exactly his idea of a good night, and now that his drinking buddy has appeared to have been completed enveloped by Bebe’s warm bosom – well, there was no hope left here for him.

He turns to Kyle with a look of desperation on his face. “Kyle, man. Let’s just go to a bar.”

Kyle raises an eyebrow, surprised. Mostly because Stan had been pretty explicit in not wanting to talk to Kyle all evening, and now this? “You’re speaking to me?” he asks.

Stan runs a hand through his black hair. “Yes, yes. Look, man, if I sit next to _this_ -” he jerks a thumb towards the nauseating couple directly to his right- “too long I’m afraid that I might need lifelong therapy,”

Kyle stares at Stan, taking in his seating situation with some amusement. “If you stay still enough, maybe you’ll become part of it.”

Stan face displays an array of emotion, the most notable of which is abject horror. “Kyle, _save me_.” His voice takes on a tone of absolute sincerity.

Kyle smirks over at his friend. “Sure,” he agrees. He twists himself round. “Yo, Wendy!”

“What’s up?” she emerges from the kitchen with a friend on her arm and glass in her hand. “Are you guys okay?”

“Er, yeah.” Kyle rubs his hair awkwardly. “Wanna get out of here?”

Wendy looks around at her party guests and wrinkles her nose up when she reaches The Bebe and Kenny Show. “I think that would be for the best.”

-

Stan really should have known better than to go out drinking with a group of tipsy women and someone who he’s trying to avoid talking to.

“So, Stan.” A girl whose name he vaguely remembers as ending with ‘-any’ sidles up to him. “You gonna buy me a drink?” she flutters her lashes.

For a second, Stan really does consider it. Then, his morality gets the better of him. And his empty wallet; that too.

“Probly not,” he murmurs, taking another swig of his cheap beer. “I’m broke,” he adds. “Sorry.”

She pouts in disappointment. “But… I’d make it worth your while.”

Stan wonders if all hippie chicks were this easy. “Broke and _gay_.” He specifies. “You’re really barking up the wrong tree.” He pours the remaining few drops of his beer into his mouth and slams it down on the bar side, making heavy eye contact with the bartender. “Yo, dude. Another lager.”

The bar itself is nice, if a little pious. It’s one of those hip and fashionable places where the walls are covered with music memorabilia and newspaper clippings; the seats are all made from reclaimed leather and the cocktails are all upwards of 10 dollars.

The bartender hands him another pint with a smirk and Stan stares at it. “Thanks,” he says, immediately bringing it to his lips. Of course the beer _had_ to be some IPA brewed by some local hipster in his garage, Stan thinks irritably.

He’s so consumed by this thought that he almost doesn’t notice the bartender staring at him.

“That’s your third beer in thirty minutes. Don’t you think you should slow down?”

Stan’s face burns hot. “You make it a habit of shaming your customers about their drinking habits?” he snaps back without a thought.

The bartender holds his hands up defensively. “Just wondering if you were doing okay.”

“I’m better than okay. I’m _drunk_ ,” Stan seethes through his teeth. “And since when do bartenders care whether customers are okay or not?!” he demands, hearing snippets of his father in his own voice and cringing inwardly. He’s in the process of mentally reminding himself not to start lauding ‘I thought this was America’ when the bartender drops him a doozy.

“Only when said customers are cute,” he delivers back with a smirk.

Stan’s floored for a second, but he recovers quickly. “Well, that’s not very professional of you.”

“I’m an opportunist, sue me,” he laughs back as Stan watches, transfixed, as he dries a wine glass with a dish towel.

Stan’s about to offer some other snarky retort when another voice cuts in.

“Who’s suing who?” Kyle approaches from behind where Stan’s leaning and cuts in. “Because I can _relate_.”

“You’re being sued?” Stan asks, agape. His previous conversation with the barman is temporarily forgotten. “By who?!”

“Well, my company is being sued. My department. For fraud,” he grimaces. When he catches a look from the bartender, he frowns. “It wasn’t _me_!” he says defensively. “Jesus. For a bartender, you’re pretty judgmental.”

Stan snorts and shoots the guy a sympathetic look. “Tell me about it,” he replies. “You managed to escape from Wendy’s friends, then?” He makes conversation.

Kyle shudders. “Man, I always knew Wendy and Bebe were hippie chicks, but those girls are… something else,” he looks around at the girls as he speaks. He turns back round and briefly motions to the bartender, who is pretending not to listen. “Two double jack and cokes,” he says, before facing back to Stan. “What? They’re not both for _me_.”

Stan cottons on that Kyle’s just bought him a drink and suppresses the urge to smile. “Thanks, big spender,” he rolls his eyes. “I’ll finish my beer first.”

He _must_ be drunk, if he’s trying to flirt with Kyle.

“So, uh,” Kyle starts. “This is kinda weird, huh?” he leans back against the bar top and scans the place. “Not exactly how I expected my evening to go.”

Stan falls short of agreeing with him, and instead raises a brow. “How _did_ you expect it to go?”

Kyle shrugs. “Probably catch a movie with Lauren and then fall asleep before 9pm,” he chuckles and thanks the bartender after being slid over his drinks. “The life of a corporate drone.”

“I imagined all coke and strippers,” Stan smirks with a cocky tip of his head.

“Oh, well.” Kyle rubs his head. “That’s just Wednesday night.”

“Hardcore,” Stan derides.

“What can I say? I guess even the wolf of wall street needs an early night sometimes.”

Stan snorts and fiddles with his glass, remembering something. “Oh. Is this… _Lauren_ your lady-friend?” he asks childishly, waggling his brows in time. “Do you live together?” he sits down on a bar stool and swings his legs to the front in a dramatic motion.

“Yeah, and no,” Kyle answers swiftly, not going into any more detail. He doesn’t follow suit in sitting down but instead his gaze drifts off into the middle distance. “What about you? Any, erm, _man_ -friends?”

Stan’s ears burn a little red as he realises that he’s never really properly discussed this side of him with Kyle before. Well, of course, _once_. But that didn’t exactly go to plan…

He notices the bartender listening in, and smirks, trying very hard to shift his mind’s attention on something less depressing.

“No,” he says, trying to project confidence. “I guess I’m still _looking_ ,” he shoots the bar guy a strategic look, which Kyle doesn’t miss.

Kyle blinks twice, once at Stan and then once at the bartender. He shrugs, taking a gulp of his brown sparkling drink and shooting Stan an amused look. “Alright, alright. Good luck.” He laughs. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Stan’s gaze lingers on his old friend for just a few seconds as he saunters away, his heart sinking in his chest.

He realises with a jolt that Kyle had just wanted to talk to him. He pours more of the bitter liquid in his glass into his mouth, feeling like an ass.

-

“I’m just saying,” River sidles into Kyle’s arm. “I think that you’d look _good_ in hemp.”

Kyle coughs into his fist and sidles _away_. “Uh… thanks. A suit made of weed. Good idea.”

“Ooh! Ooh!” Sara jumps in. “I know just the place for you. My friend has a little place in Boulder where she makes hemp suits for business-y people.”

Wendy snorts with laughter. “Yeah, and maye I’ll just show up to court in a kaftan. That’d go down well, you think?”

“I was seriously considering only wearing a fig leaf to my deposition,” Kyle adds with a chuckle.

River giggles into her hand. “You totally should. You’d _definitely_ win.” She grins.

Wendy frowns. “Erm, I’m not sure you can _win_ a deposition…” she grimaces. “And I seriously don’t want to picture you in nothing but a fig leaf, Kyle. Gross.” She wrinkles up her nose and shakes her head. “Actually, I wish to exit this conversation. I better go find Stan, I don’t know where he’s gone.” She stands up, and Kyle shoots her his best ‘don’t leave me alone with these people’ look of horror.

She ignores him with a smug aura and wanders over to use the ladies’ room. She accidentally bumps into a large man on the way, apologising profusely for knocking him.

“Ay! Watch it!”

That voice.

Her blood curdles.

She knows that voice.

“ _Cartman_?”

“Wendy, you dirty hippie,” he greets her with a nod. “Mind telling me why everyone decided to have a reunion without _me_?”

Wendy’s brow furrows intensely and her heart drops to the floor. “How did you even find out…?”

Cartman shoves his phone in her face, lit up with a picture that one of Bebe’s friends had taken in the group, tagging people – with the location set to visible. “You assholes!” he shakes his fist, reminding Wendy somewhat of Barbrady.

Wendy feels her palm make contact with her face. “Look, it happened by mistake,” she begins to utter. “Urgh, why am I even justifying this to you…? Even if we’d invited you, you would have called us all dirty hippies and refused to come along!” she glowers, balling her fists. “Besides. I didn’t know you were in Denver.”

Cartman shakes his head, letting his floppy brown hair hit his sweaty forehead. “Nuh-uh. At least one of you knew I was in Denver.” His eyes narrow. “That sneaky Jew…” he makes a motion as if he’s about to storm over to where Kyle sits chatting, and Wendy holds him back by his shoulders.

“Woah, there!” she says in a soothing voice. “If you stomp over there and accuse him, we’ll all leave and you won’t get to join in.” she tells him diplomatically, wondering why the hell he wants to join in anyway. “If you’re at least a _shred_ polite, you can sit and have a drink with us. _One drink_. Okay?”

Cartman’s scowl fades. “God, you’re an insufferable hippie,” he says under his breath, a calming finger on his own forehead. “Whatever.”

Meanwhile Stan has spent the last forty minutes ordering drinks in a thinly veiled attempt to continue the flirtatious conversation he’s having with the bartender – whose name, he’s since found out, is Damien.

“Shouldn’t you really be serving other customers?” Stan remarks, noticing that some people appear to be frustratedly waiting for drinks which are taking too long.

“I serve in order of cuteness,” Damien shrugs. “And shouldn’t you be hanging out with your friends? I thought you said that you hadn’t seen them in a while, or something,” he remarks drily. “Or don’t you care?”

Stan runs a hand through his dark hair and sighs. “Yeah, but. They don’t put out.”

“And you assume that I do…?”

“I like my chances,” Stan grins, circling his finger suggestively around the rim of his glass. He takes a sip of the luminous fluid, and then makes a face of disgust. “Jeez. This drink is intense. What is this?” he points down at it. Stan had ordered the strongest thing on the menu, and this had been delivered.

“Absinthe,” Damien laughs mirthfully. “Which makes me think that _you_ probably won’t be putting out tonight.”

Stan waves him away, drunkly. “You don’t know me. I can handle my liquor.”

“I can see that.” Damien raises a brow. “Tell you what… stick around until around 3am and you can handle more than just-”

“EXCUSE ME!” a lady’s voice shouts from across the bar. “I’ve been waiting for my maraschino daiquiri for _ten minutes_!”

Damien sighs. “Duty calls,” he shrugs. “Offers on the table.” He saunters away.

Stan blinks and nods, sending his companion off with two fingers from his forehead. He checks the time and realises that it’s nearing 2am, so he stands up from the bar stool with a little difficulty.

“Jesus, I _am_ drunk.” He whispers to himself as the bar spins around him. He stands still as he waits for it to become static so he can locate his friends. Even this feat takes him a sorry amount of time, but eventually by placing one foot in front of the other he manages to get there without making too much of an ass of himself.

“Oh, hey.” Kyle smiles. “How’d it go?”

“Hm?” he looks up, a little dizzy. “Very well. How are you?”

Kyle frowns and catches on. “Sara, you mind letting Stan sit down for a second?” he asks, and Sara does so politely, making way for a slowly swaying Stan Marsh to all but collapse into the soft leather armchair. “You need some water,” he says factually, and stands up to walk over to the bar.

When he gets there, he finds that he ends up waiting ten times as long as Stan was waiting to get drinks, and even when he does eventually get asked – the bartender shoots him a glare.

“Look, can I get some water? Like, just from the tap?” Kyle drums his fingers against the bar side impatiently. “And maybe stop letting him buy drinks,” he adds a little judgmentally. Old habits die hard.

The bartender narrows his eyes at Kyle, and then his eyes shift over to Stan with some understanding. “Sure,” he laughs. “You his guardian, or do you just want to get into his pants?” he remarks with a fair amount of sass.

Kyle’s eyebrows twitch downwards. “No, I don’t want to get into his pants. We’re friends.”

“Yeah, he’s been telling me all about that. Haven’t seen each other for four years?” the guy shakes his head. “

Kyle’s expression turns to one of genuine displeasure. “He’s a borderline alcoholic.” Kyle’s face is hard. “Or… he used to be,” Kyle turns back to glance at Stan inquisitively. “I’m kind of worried about him,” he adds, almost talking to himself rather than to the bar man.

The bartender’s eyebrows shoot up and he emits a gasping noise. “Oh, _shit_. Shit, I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s fine, man. Just… be careful.” Kyle coughs. “And, um. Maybe don’t mention that I said that,” he adds, pondering the fallout that would occur if Stan knew he was actively cock-blocking him.

He shakes his head. “Are you… staying longer?” he asks a little nervously, sliding the glass of water over to Kyle with knitted brows. “I’ll make sure he sobers up.”

Kyle shrugs. “I don’t know,” He takes the glass and sends the man a firm nod. “Thanks.”

When he gives it to Stan, the boy glares, _glares_ at him. “Stop mothering me.” He scowls.

“Just drink it,” Kyle tells him, tiredly.

“No.”

“Come on, man,” he groans. “We’re not in high school anymore, ok? Just drink the fucking water. You’re pissed.” Kyle’s body language is irritated, that’s for sure.

“Stop being such a goddamn _bore._ ” Stan growls, more an attempt to rile Kyle up than anything else.

It works.

“Maybe I would, if you’d actually be fucking responsible for once,” Kyle scowls, tensing up. Around them, the girls share looks and utter some excuse before sidling away, leaving the two boys alone to have their argument. Not that it matters, because they were clearly about to have this out no matter the company.

“God, you’re always so superior, aren’t you?!”

“Only when you’re being an idiot!”

“You don’t even know me!” Stan spits. “This is the first time in four years that we’ve seen each other. And even now, you can’t help but _lecture_ me,” he pauses. “Ever considered that just because you went to college out of state, it doesn’t make you better than the rest of us?”

“I _do_ know you,” Kyle counters. “I know that you’re an idiot when it comes to alcohol,” he raises an eyebrow. “What, you thought I would just forget that time that you-”

“That was four years ago!” Stan cuts him off furiously.

“Oh, because you’ve changed _so much_ …?” Kyle says sarcastically. “For fuck’s sake, I’m just trying to… I’m just… I’m worried about you!”

“So worried that you wouldn’t even speak to me after high school?” the words fly out of Stan’s mouth, and as soon as they do, he wishes that they were back inside.

“I’m sorry about that!” Kyle splutters, raising his hands defensively. He can’t help but feel that this conversation is going straight to hell, but he can’t help but continue it anyway. “I _told_ you I was sorry.” There’s a pause. “Is that why you won’t talk to me? Because you’re still bitter about that? You _know_ why-”

Kyle stops mid-sentence and freezes still, his eyes trailing off somewhere into the bar.

“What?!” Stan demands, his voice itching up a few decibels.

“No, no, no, no, no. _No_.”

“W-what?” Stan’s tone turns to confusion as Kyle mutters to himself, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to shield from an oncoming headache.

“Dude, _Cartman_ is _here_ ,” he hisses. Every trace of their original conversation forgotten, Stan’s expression morphs into one of terror as he, too, spots the fascist blob speaking to Wendy. “Ok, ok. Forget your water, let’s get the fuck out of here,” Kyle quickly stands up and dusts himself off.

Stan, too, stands up with haste as the two men rush to locate their jackets and shove them on. Kyle takes a second trying to find his – must have gotten kicked under a chair, or something – and Stan pushes him on the arm. “Just leave it, he’s coming over,” he hisses.

“Urgh, fine,” Kyle agrees and they funnel out just as Cartman and Wendy approach their table, Stan almost tripping over a chair as they do so.

“Where are you going?” Wendy calls after, her voice disappointed.

“Uh. Out for a smoke!” Stan quickly lies, without turning his head. They fast-walk out of the bar door and enter the street outside, amidst the cold wind and a strange look from a bouncer.

“Jesus.” Kyle grimaces, shivering from his lack of coat and an errant gust of wind. “Oh God, we can’t just _leave_ ,” he laughs, hiding behind the bouncer with a mixed look of horror and amusement. “We’re trapped.”

“Christ, I’m too drunk for this,” Stan comments, pinching the bridge of his nose and pulling a small cardboard box from his pocket and sliding another cylindrical tube out of that.

He places the cigarette gingerly in his mouth, pausing when he notices Kyle staring at him. “What?”

“You mind sharing? I’m freezing.”

Stan shrugs and passes him one, lighting them both up and leaning against the exterior wall of the bar as he inhales the cigarette smoke with a thoughtful glance back at Kyle. “I didn’t know you smoked.”

Kyle stares up at the sky with a protracted exhale. “Yeah, well. I guess we don’t know each other, like you said.”

“Hey, man, I was just…”

“It’s fine.” Kyle grits his teeth. “It’s my fault, anyway,” he continues. “You know, I still think about that, about high school. How everything finished with us.” There’s a pause. “I was a dick to you, and I’m sorry.”

Stan looks over at him coldly. “Yeah, well. You made your choice.”

“And I feel badly-”

“You can’t change it now.”

“Why not?” Kyle probes, against his better instinct.

“Because! I needed you back then! When my dad died, and the whole _town_ was against me, and Cartman put up those stupid posters!” Stan explodes suddenly. “When my life was going to shit, and my best friend wasn’t even _talking_ to me!” he continues. “You think I need you now? I’m fine, dude. I got a job, and I live with Kenny, and everything is _fine_.” He hesitates. “And your apology is useless.”

Kyle’s expression stays level. “I was a dumb seventeen-year-old,” he explains. “What can I say? I guess Cartman’s homophobia got to me.” He shudders. “I _never_ meant for him to find out.”

“Right, and it was so much worse for _you_ , wasn’t it?” Stan kicks the ground, earning another strange look from the bouncer, who probably knows too much already. “Did you forget? You’re straight, dude. _I’m_ the one that was outed. By _you_.” He throws his hands up into the air. “God. I… I…” he suddenly feels a little dizzy – maybe it’s all the drunken shouting – and presses his hand to his temple.

“Are you alright?” Kyle frowns, taking a step towards him.

Stan sucks another lungful of nicotine into his body and nods, stabilising himself. “Yes,” he sighs. “Jesus, I don’t need all this drama.”

Kyle’s mouth twists into a smirk. “Then… be friends with me.”

Stan glowers. “That’s the lamest thing you’ve ever said.”

“Even lamer than, ‘I think it is the nicest hat I have ever known’?” Kyle taunts and Stan growls at him. “I don’t think so. Or ‘you’re my super best friend’? What about that?” he snickers.

Stan rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. No wonder Cartman thought we were boning.”

“Even the bartender thought we were,” Kyle muses, glancing back through the doors but unable to see through them.

Stan’s heart drops a bit. “The bartender? Alex?!” he asks, embarrassed. “Oh my God.”

Kyle snorts and sucks on his cigarette. “Relax. I didn’t realise you two were on a first name basis. Anyway, I told him that we weren’t.”

“Shit, I think I might have majorly embarrassed myself in front of him.”

“Who cares?”

Stan shoots him a meaningful look, and Kyle raises his hands. “Whatever. I think you could do better.”

“Oh my God, just because we’re friends again doesn’t mean you get to speak about my love life. Or my sex life. Or… my life, period,” Stan concludes with a frown.

“We’re friends again?” Kyle hones in on the wrong part of the sentence and his faces lights up. “Sweet, dude.”

Stan shoots him a funny look but doesn’t answer the question. “Should we go inside?” he asks, finishing his cigarette and flicking the remains onto the ground. “Face our destiny?”

Kyle grumbles as he follows Stan through the doors. “I really _could_ live without that coat, y’know.”

“It’s fine,” Stan hisses back. “Besides, he’s probably matured-”

“Ay! Guys, guys. I just thought of a joke! A jew and a faggot walk into a bar…? Anyone know this one?!”

Kyle’s face flushes red with anger and Stan swears under his breath.


	5. a melodramatic exit

“Cartman…” Kyle says warningly, reaching up to massage his forehead with his hand.

“ _Relax_ , Jew. It’s called a joke. Your people know all about those, or so I hear.”

Wendy frowns at Cartman. “You said that you were going to be nice-”

“That’s a compliment!” Cartman grumbles, but he doesn’t argue the point any further, choosing instead to let Kyle and Stan sit down in the group in peace. An uneasy silence settles on the lot of them, and Wendy clears her throat, about to break it, but Cartman beats her to the punch. “Where’s Kenny?” he asks.

“Getting laid, probably,” Stan answers, forgetting to hold his tongue.

Cartman looks up, sharply. “What? That son of a bitch! He’s the only one of you I even remotely _like_ , and he’s not here!” he rages.

“Blame Bebe and her wily charms,” Stan drawls, holding his hands up to his chest to mimic cupping his breasts. “Besides. Why the fuck are you even here?” he asks, feeling his head swirling as he leans into his hand to steady himself.

“Thought I’d join the party that you _cunts_ didn’t even invite me to.”

“This wasn’t planned, asshole.”

“How was I supposed to know that!” Cartman throws some beer back and leans backward in his chair as Wendy eyes him a little cautiously. _He’s changed_. She thinks. _Not mentally, but certainly physically._

He wasn’t that chubby round rude little boy any more. Still overweight, yes. But… he seemed to have grown into it. He was built wide and stout, like a tank but not without some muscle underneath that fat. Wendy finds her expression playing a ghost of a smile as she notices that his brown tufts of hair are just as soft and floppy as ever; his eyes just as warm and hazel-coloured. Ever a complete foil to that harsh, abrasive personality that made him hated by so many.

“Come on, guys. Let’s all be civil,” Wendy finds herself saying, once again playing the voice-of-reason to the group. “We’re adults.”

Kyle could vaguely be heard muttering something akin to ‘some of us, anyway’ but before Cartman can retort, Wendy jumps in to save the day. “What have you been up to, anyway?”

Cartman shrugs. “This and that. I worked in advertising, for a while. As luck would have it, I’m pretty good at manipulating people. I got fired after too many employees complained about me. Fuckin’ snowflakes, man…” he curses to himself, looking up to see three pairs of expectant eyes looking back at him. “Oh, uh. Then I moved to Denver. I worked on the streets for a while. I guess you could say I was a con-artist.”

“That sounds about right,” Kyle mutters.

“Shut, up, Jew! Anyway, then I was a paparazzo for a little while.”

“What…?”

“Well, it turns out that Denver doesn’t really have many celebrities. So that dried up pretty quick. And… now I work in Public Relations,” he boasts with a slick grin. “So I guess you could say that I’m moved my way up in the world.”

Stan chuckles to himself, earning a glare from Cartman. “What’s funny, faggot? You laughing at how much more successful I am than you?”

“Jesus, your career history reads like a goddamn rap sheet,” Stan shakes his head, still laughing. “Go figure.”

Kyle snorts in response and Cartman’s angry glare turns to him, instead. “Like you’re any better, you filthy lawyer scum!”

Kyle raises his hands slowly and condescendingly in his own defence. “Chill out. I’m not a lawyer.”

“What? You were going into Law, last I heard?”

“I switched to Business.” He shrugs. “More money,” he adds with a twitched left eyebrow, waiting for the obvious joke to come out of Cartman’s mouth.

There’s no surprise, Cartman can’t resist a tempting opener like that. “Typical paper-chasing Jew…”

“Says the man who sold his soul for a living?”

“I did what I had to do. The economy is crappy. And who can I thank for that?” Cartman’s eyes turn into slits as Wendy and Stan share a bemused glance.

“Oh, let me guess. The _Jews_?!” Kyle throws his hands up in the air in a fit of annoyance.

“You got it!”

Kyle narrows his eyes and falls uncharacteristically silent. He seems to think for a little while, staring hard at his sparring partner before uttering his next sentence, in a considerably calmer fashion. “You don’t really believe that anymore, though, do you?”

Cartman’s face is unreadable, until the corners of his mouth turn up ever-so-slightly. He barks a laugh. “What can I say?” he breaks his persona. “You’re _too_ much fun to wind up, Broflovski.” His glance turns to Stan. “The faggot’s fun too, but I have a feeling he’s too far-gone to care what I say.”

Stan and Wendy stare at Cartman, mouths agape with abject shock with what they’ve just witnessed.

Kyle is laughing to himself, his shoulders shaking with mirth as he crosses his arms over his stomach. “Jesus. You really do derive a sick joy in making your friends miserable.”

“Who said we’re friends?!” Cartman retorts, but he doesn’t seem too vindictive. “Anyway. Enough out of you, Jew-boy. What does everyone else do?”

“I work in Data Entry,” Stan flatlines. “I live in South Park, with. He works at Jim’s Drugs.”

Cartman snorts. “Sucks to be you, I guess. And Wendolyn?”

“Don’t call me that,” she fiddles with her beer bottle label. “And I’m still studying for the bar, I told you. I graduate this year.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Hah! Only you would say that to a Harvard Law graduate,” she shrugs, unapologetic in her air of superiority.”

“Grades aren’t everything. I got where I am by being a ruthless mastermind.”

Wendy flushes red. “Well, I got where I am with hard work and _brains_.”

It’s Stan and Kyle’s turn to share a look as Cartman systematically pisses off everyone in their group.

“True, true.” Cartman nods, smiling. “I guess Stan’s the only _real_ failure out of the lot of us. You’d think with all that dick you suck, you’d have a better lot in life-”

“You’d better shut your fat mouth, you piece of-” Stan stands up all of a sudden and takes a threatening step towards Cartman, who flnches.

“ _Me and Stan_ are going to get some drinks.” Kyle interrupts, standing up too and practically dragging Stan by his collar away as Cartman pouts, effectively losing his bait.

When Stan and Kyle are out of earshot, Stan yanks himself out of Kyle’s grasp and glares. “I don’t need your goddamn assistance with that asshole,” he hisses, poking a finger into Kyle’s face. “ _You’re_ the one who can’t control his temper, not me.”

“Oh, _please_.” Kyle rolls his eyes. “Tell you weren’t about to rip that asshole a new… asshole.” Kyle leans against the bar and shrugs. “Look, I get it. I hate that guy, too.”

Stan pushes on his chest and Kyle stumbles back a pace or two, taken aback. “You _don’t_ get it!” he asserts angrily. “You have no idea!”

“Oh, because Cartman didn’t spent our teenage years alternating between abusing me and harassing me?” Kyle raises an eyebrow, voice laden with sarcasm.

“He didn’t ruin your life,” Stan growls, turning to the barman, who is polishing some glasses behind the bar. “Some cheap scotch,” he half-slurs.

Kyle opens his mouth to retort, and then seems to think better of it. His mouth closes and he replies in a quiet voice. “ _Stan_. You’re drunk. Let’s just get out of here,” he tries to reason. His voice is level but something about his tone betrays just a hint of anxiousness.

The bartender from earlier looks nervously back at his customer. “Uh…”

“I’ll have a _fifth_ of _scotch_ ,” he says, a little angrier – slapping his hand loudly against the wooden top surface.

Kyle and the bartender lock eyes for a second and Kyle shakes his head, ‘no’ at the man. Somehow, the motion doesn’t escape Stan, and he scowls deeply at his friend.

“Sorry, dude. I gotta cut you off.” The barkeep makes an apologetic face and his shoulders shrug upwards, as if he doesn’t have a choice.

“ _Fine_.” Stan grits, still glaring daggers at Kyle. “Then I’m getting the _fuck_ out of here,” he announces melodramatically, turning on his heel and beginning to angrily storm out of the dingy place.

Kyle stares after him for a split second, and then rummages through his wallet, slapping twenty bucks on the bar and shooting the bartender an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, man… he’s not usually…” he trails off and shakes his curls out. “Look, I gotta go,” Kyle concludes, also turning on his heel and walking in the other direction. He briefly stops to grab his coat from where Cartman and Wendy are deep in conversation, throwing his arms in the arm-holes haphazardly as both his companions look at Stan’s departing presence, and then Kyle, as if they’ve both gone insane.

“What’s going on?” Wendy asks worriedly. “Is everything okay?” she makes a move to stand up but Kyle raises his hand, stopping her.

“Everything’s fine. I’ll sort it out,” he garbles, aware that if he doesn’t catch up to Stan, the boy will be forced to roam the streets of Denver, alone all night. “I’ll text you, Wendy. Bye, Eric,” he says quickly; absently – and then rushes out into the cold dark streets to run after his friend.

Wendy calls after him, but if he hears, he doesn’t respond. She stares after the two boys, anxiety pushing her eyebrows close together and causing her to bite on her lip. “Shit.”

“Oh, they’ll be fine.” Cartman shrugs. “You know those two. So melodramatic. Stan was in theatre club, for fuck’s sake.” He pauses for a second, thinking. “You know, that’s the first time Kyle’s ever called me Eric.”

Wendy frowns. “You know they haven’t spoken in years?”

“Well, let them speak now!” he exclaims. “Besides. Who needs those guys?” Cartman raises his beer bottle in a ‘cheers’ motion and Wendy hesitantly accepts, her mind still not quite settled.

Something was _definitely_ going down, and it wasn’t in her nature not to know people’s business.

 

* * *

 

Kyle spots Stan about a block away and sprints to catch him up, his coat billowing behind him. The city lit up, the thudding of his work shoes against the sidewalk- it was like something from a movie. He catches up to his friend and lightly grabs his shoulder, warranting Stan to violently shove himself away. “Leave me the _fuck_ alone!”

Kyle resists every urge not to roll his eyes, but decides to appeal to Stan’s lesser-seen logical brain. “Stanley-fucking-Marsh. _Listen_ to me. My place is ten minutes walk from here. You can come back to mine and I’ll make you food, or you can roam around the streets and be homeless in Denver for a night. Your choice,” he uses his stern voice, and then folds his arms, his weight falling on one hip as he waits patiently for an answer.

There’s a decently long silence.

“God- _damn_ it!” Stan swears. “…what will you make?”

Kyle’s face breaks out in a grin.

“If you behave, I’ll make you a birthday cake.”


	6. a strange look

“Just so you know,” Stan begins, in between shoving fistfuls of frosting into his mouth. “This is no substitute for home-made. And as such, I _shannot_ behave.” He giggles, Kyle eyeing him up with a little amusement and a little tiredness.

Kyle shrugs, barely lifting his shoulders for the motion as he sinks deeper into his couch and leans his head back against the cushion propped behind it. “Yeah, well, it’s not your birthday anymore.”

Stan pauses his cake-eating and his gaze fixes into a sorrowful stare over at the other couch. “Christ. _Christ_. I’m twenty- _four_ ,” he groans in dismay.

Kyle’s eyebrow twinges upward. “And you haven’t aged a day since high school,” he utters, his voice teeming with sarcasm, bringing his beer bottle up to his lips and not saying a word more.

Stan lowers his cake-fist and wipes a few remaining frosting smudges from his stubble. He smirks down at the thing; purchased on a whim at a gas station and feels a sense of shame intermingled with a jarring one of pride. “I think I got fatter...”

“ _Speaking_ of things that are fat,” Kyle sits up a little straighter; feeling marginally tipsier than before. “Can you believe _Cartman_ showed up? Of all people…”

“I can hardly believe _you_ showed up,” Stan retorts with brazen honesty.

“Yeah, well. I thought about not coming, honestly. When Wendy mentioned you’d be there… ah, I wasn’t sure if it would be weird. Then I figured, my charming self would get you to talk to me.” Kyle grins, his smile gleaming with mock arrogance.

“You wish.”

“Hey, you _are_ talking to me.”

“You bribed me with food.” Stan licks residue frosting from his fingers as if to prove his point.

“All it took was a shitty three dollar cake? Damn, if _only_ I’d known that secret back in high school,” Kyle rattles off in his signature deadpan.

There’s a brief silence, during which Kyle wonders if he’s allowed to say things like that anymore.

Stan changes the subject. “Dude,” he ponders humbly, slicing through the strange quiet. “We left Cartman with _Wendy_.”

Kyle barks a laugh, and then immediately feels a little bad. “Oh, man. Sucks to be her.” He shrugs.

“Do you think we should we go back and save her?” he asks, popping a potato chip into his mouth with abandon.

Kyle shakes his head, taking another glug of beer. “Nah. She’s better equipped for dealing with him than either of us, anyhow,” he declares. “I mean, _you’re_ pissed and the last thing _I_ need on my hands is a homicide investigation.”

Stan laughs into his IPA. “You talk about it like it’s a given…”

“Yeah… well, I can’t…” Kyle trails off and narrows his eyes. “Hey, where did you get that!” he points to Stan’s bottle. “That’s one of my IPAs!”

Stan grins like a monkey. “I stole it from your pantry,” he sniffs. “I can’t believe you only have these and no lager. I thought _I_ was the gay one.”

“IPA isn’t gay!” Kyle protests.

“Uh, _I’d_ know.” Stan purses his lips and gives his best sassy look, which admittedly, falls a little flat. “Whatever, anyway. I’m drinking it.”

“It’s like 3am,” Kyle rubs his eyes. “Aren’t you tired?!”

Stan glares over at his friend and Kyle concedes, raising two defensive hands in the air in front of him. “Ok, ok. Drink your cares away, not my business.”

Stan nods, pleased.

 

* * *

 

“Oh my God,” Bebe finds herself saying. “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

Kenny frowns and scratches at the yellow stubble on his face. “You’re meant to say that _during_ sex, not afterwards,” he points out a little grumblingly, pulling the white blanket just a smidgen to cover his modesty (if he truly had any).

“No, no. I just mean….” Bebe’s face is beetroot red. “I can’t believe we just did that!” she folds her arms self-consciously over her chest.

Kenny shrugs, his breathing slowing marginally as the overwhelming desire to bolt out the door sets in thoroughly. “Oh, come on. I wasn’t _that_ bad.”

“Ha-ah!” Bebe laughs now, a slightly breathless and flustered sound. “Boys always think that. Girls always say that.” She smiles a little mysteriously.

Kenny groans and covers his face with one of the pillows which had been keeping his head up; feeling it drop heavily onto the mattress. Bebe laughs and pulls the pillow from his face with a scornful look. “You were fine,” she mutters. When Kenny shoots her a slightly disbelieving look, she raises her hands and repeats herself. “You _were_!”

“Just answer me one question, Stevens.”

“Shoot.”

“Who is better. Me or Kyle?”

Bebe contorts her face into a pensive expression as she appears to mull this over. “Well. Kyle was a long time ago,” she remarks, biting her lip. I guess we had the added benefit of teenage hormones complicating everything.”

“Psh. I still have that.”

“True, true…” she shrugs. “Uh. I’d have to give you an eight. And a seven-point-five for Kylie.”

Kenny pumps his fists with unabashed triumph. “YES!” he yells. “Wait. Out of ten?” he adds. She nods. “Would you be willing to go on record as having said that?”

“Sure,” Bebe shrugs, pulling a compact mirror from the side of her bed and briefly checking her reflection in it.

“What was in it?”

“Well, if I’m honest…” she pauses, pouting at her reflection. “You _try_ harder. You’re more enthusiastic. Kyle’s got the confidence but he never… ah, hmm. He never really put in much effort, I suppose.” she answers honestly. “I don’t hold it against him.” She sits up now, her post-coital glow beginning to fade.

“Whose dick is bi-”

“ _No_.”

“Fine.” Kenny pouts. “Then who _is_ your best? Of all time?”

Bebe snickers lightly into her hand. “Oh honey. You don’t want to know.”

“I do.” Kenny swears solemnly. “I _desperately_ want to know.”

“…” Bebe pauses for a little dramatic effect, and it works. “Token,” she reveals finally, an air of gravity in her voice.

“Token?!” Kenny groans. “Aw, I can’t compete,” he moans, sinking down in the bed hopelessly. Bebe clears her throat and fiddles with her hair but doesn’t say anything, and suddenly Kenny feels that the air between is loaded, somehow. He frowns over at his companion. “What’s up? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.” He frowns.

“I’m just… I mean. Aren’t you going to call me a whore, or something?”

Kenny’s eyes snap open, gobsmacked. “No…” he starts slowly. “Why would you think that?!”

“Every guy I’ve been with implies it, in some way. When they find out how many of their friends that I’ve slept with.”

“Really?” Kenny seems incredulous. “Wait, wait. _Kyle_ called you a whore…?”

She purses her lips and shrugs. “Admittedly no. But I could always tell that he thought I was easy, to some degree.” She pauses, inspecting her latest conquest with a smile. “It’s fine, you know.” She defuses the tension with a little exhale. “I mean, I’m used to it. If it really bothered me, I would stop sleeping with guys.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph. Bebe, You are _not_ a whore,” he finds himself adamantly telling her. “I’d heard you’ve been with a lot of guys, but… you just like sex.” He jabs a thumb towards himself. “If you’re a whore, then _I’m_ a whore.”

She just shrugs. “It’s different for guys.”

He ponders this statement he’s been presented with. “It shouldn’t be.”

“It is, though.”

“Well. That sucks. I’m… I guess I’m sorry. You should be able to fuck people if that’s what your heart desires. You know, without being accused of shit.”

“You’re pretty refreshing, McCormick.” She runs a hand through her hair, before rummaging through her cabinet drawers and fishing a box of cigarettes from the thing, plucking one out and placing it gingerly in Kenny’s mouth. “Go ahead,” she instructs, passing him a lighter.

He lights himself up and leans back onto the headboard, one hand behind his head. “Thanks.”

She does the same to herself, and after exhaling a mouthful of smoke, she chuckles. “We should have done with this back in high school. Remind me, why didn’t we?”

“Man, I _wanted_ to. You were seeing Kyle, for some of it.” he scratches his head. “Actually, do you think he’ll mind?”

“I doubt it. He probably wouldn’t have cared even when we were together.”

Kenny smiles smugly, taking a drag from his cigarette. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I might be able to bring myself up to a nine.”

“Oh yeah?”

“It’s a skill of mine. One cigarette and I’ll be ready to go again,” he boasts. “Promise.”

Bebe twists her face into a wry and apologetic smile. “I’m tired, actually. I think I might hit the hay.”

Kenny’s face falls for a second and he looks genuinely crushed, until Bebe throws him another bone. “Cheer up, boy. There’s always the morning.”

He beams again and finishes his cigarette, crushing the remains in the bedside ashtray. “Your grandad smokes, I take it.”

“Twenty a day.”

“Hm.” He shrugs. “Well. We’d better get cleaned up.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You know, you don’t have to be such an asshole _all_ the time.” Wendy frowns after her friends flee the bar. “You could try. Just like, a little bit. A smidge, really,” she drawls.

“Psh. Relax, bitch.”

Wendy growls. “What the hell is wrong with you? They’re your friends.”

“Are they?”

“If they’re not it’s your own fault.”

Cartman rolls his eyes, levelling Wendy. “If I’m so bad, why are you still hanging around?”

“Because, you idiot,” Wendy starts, glaring. “Stan and Kyle ran off together, and Kenny and Bebe are banging, and you’re the only one left.”

“Or… is it because you secretly harbour feelings for me?” Cartman proposes an alternative point of view, to which Wendy snorts. She regards for a second or two.

“You know, I can see why the boys keep you around.”

“Oh?”

“You’re funny,” she tells him informatively, surprised as the words even come out of her mouth. “You’ve always been the funny one.”

“I thought Kenny was the funny one, and I was the fat one.”

Wendy screws up her nose. “If Kenny was funny, then it was muffled by his hood. Anyway, you’ve lost weight, right?” she changes the subject quickly, allowing herself a quick sip from her beverage.

“Yes.” He doesn’t blink. “Ok. I’m the funny one. Kenny’s the poor one. What are Stan and Kyle?”

Wendy mulls this over. “Stan’s the sensitive one.”

Cartman mimes puking. “God, don’t remind me.”

“And Kyle… Kyle’s the serious one. The moral one.”

“I’m moral, you whore,” Cartman grumbles. “Anyway, how moral is selling out to the corporate machine?”

“True, true.” Wendy shrugs. “Guess he’s just the Jewish one.”

They both chuckle for a second and then Wendy’s face turns serious. “Do you think they’re ok? Stan left in a hurry,” she bites her lip, concerned. “It is his birthday…”

“Leave it to those two,” he rolls his eyes. “Stan’s still pissy about those posters, I take it.”

Wendy’s mouth opens, and then it shuts, quietly. “The posters…” she shudders. “Jesus, Eric. I had forgotten. What were you thinking?”

Cartman’s face turns to a scowl, and he shrugs. “They deserved it. Pussies.”

“No, they didn’t.”

His face turns red and he doesn’t smile. “I don’t know why everyone got so crazy about that. I thought it was funny, and those guys are assholes, anyway-”

“No.” Wendy says, serious now. “It is _not_ funny.” She’s angrier, now. Forgotten earlier, when she was being all nice to him. “You outed him to the whole town. He got bricks through his front window!” Wendy berates him.

“It taught him a lesson.”

“He tried to _kill_ himself, Eric.” Wendy hisses, suddenly furious.

Cartman’s face pales a little. “I… didn’t know about that.”

“Jesus.” Wendy shakes her head, making a motion to stand up. “You… you’re beyond help. I can’t believe I tried to bother with you,” she says to herself, pulling her beret out of her bag and placing it onto her head and swinging her bag onto her shoulder. She’s stopped just before she manages to storm out of there by Cartman, who stood up to put an arm on hers. She stares at the offending appendage for a half a second and then scowls. “Get off me.”

“Don’t go,” he asks. “If you stay, I’ll tell you my side.”

Wendy hesitates.

 

* * *

 

 

Kyle plucks the last two cold beers from his fridge before kicking the thing shut with his bare foot. He wanders back into the lounge where he finds Stan splayed out on the couch, his eyes closed and softly snoring. Kyle snorts quietly with amusement to himself. “Of course,” he mutters quietly, and then shakes his head, placing the two unopened bottles down on the coffee table.

He observes the sleeping Stan for a few seconds, a strange expression on his face, then shakes his head at seemingly nothing, tiptoeing around his friend to quietly clear the room from the numerous alcoholic beverages which had accumulated around them. He pads over to the kitchen and lightly places the glass bottles in the recycling bin with a small clink, in a bid to not wake up Stan or his roommates upstairs.

He returns into the lounge and shoots Stan another hesitant look, something unreadable in his eyes. Remembering something, he wanders over to the unoccupied couch and reaches round the back, pulling out a thick blanket and tossing it lightly over Stan. He takes a step back, almost in the manner than one might to observe a painting, or some sort of confusing arrangement that they wanted to understand better. That strange expression flickers over his features again and he runs a stressed hand through his ginger locks, before turning away; towards to the door and flicking out the lights.

“ _Shit_ ,” he mutters to himself in the dark, with nobody around awake to hear him.


End file.
